Victim
by Kozga Nitt
Summary: While Naomi Misora is investigating the criminal murder scene of Backyard Bottomslash's bedroom, Rue Ryuzaki brings about a rather. . .ahem. . .awkard action. M rated for BBxMisora. R&R, please!


(Note - A little experimental boredom fic that I got sudden inspiration from while reading the BB Murder Cases for the fifth time. Haven't ever looked it up, haven't ever read it, but it made my mind do this little twitchy thing that made me very curious as to how it it'll turn out, so please don't eat me if I'm out of character, out of my mind, out of anything. I'm just a bit curious, and extremely bored, which is firing most of this fic. Constructive criticism, please. Don't hate me if you dislike it.)

Naomi Misora grunted as she struggled to open the door to the bedroom of Backyard Bottomslash. She was almost tempted to call through the door to get Ryuzaki to open it for her, but she didn't know what oddities would come out of it. He had already internally freaked her out at least once, with his crawling around on the floor business, the way he sat, his diet. Ugh. I just all gave her a nauseous feeling in the pit of her stomach. But she had somehow managed to stick with him these past few days, and he had somehow managed to not cease amazing her, in many different ways. Her eyes perched open as she heard the door finally click open, and grabbed the tray of coffee she had in her hands quickly, before it belted to the floor. As she opened the door, she froze. . .yup, Ryuzaki had finally found a way to freak her out even more. He was sprawled in the middle of the room, on his back. Misora groped around in her head, for something, anything that would fit the mood. As if there would be a mood for a crazed 'unprivate' detective lying on his back in the same position as the murdered woman previously in this room, and a woman holding a tray of coffee staring at him as if he had three heads.

No, more like nine heads.

"Err. . .Ryuzaki?" He didn't answer. For a split second, Misora wondered if he had just died, until she saw his chest rising and falling.

"Ryuzaki. . ."

"I'm a corpse." Misora blinked.

"I have become a corpse. I can't talk to you. I am dead."

She furrowed her brows, and began to edge toward him, with the intent of stepping over him, drowning the urge to scold him, to tell him to stop fooling around, and to get up off that dirty floor. She might as well just leave him to his odd tendencies. A lot of things ran through her mind in just a few of those seconds. She wondered if he was going to grab her ankle if she tried to step over him, wondered if he just wasn't going to let her by, period. Her gaze went from the Ryuzaki corpse to the wall, right as she was raising her leg, cautiously. The hole in the wall, where the Wara Ningyo were nailed. . .whoops.

Misora felt something beneath her. It wasn't the floor. It was softer. Like a body. . .crap. Misora lost her footing, and felt the heels of her boots delve into the skin of Ryuzaki's body. She bit her lip, screaming apologies in her mind as he full weigh pushed down on the man beneath her.

"S-Sorry!" she finally blurted out, as Ryuzaki let out a pained grunt. As she finally regained her balance, and stepped off the man, she set down the tray of coffee and gave him a look-over. She saw where she had practically stabbed him in the gut, and gritted her teeth. That would leave a mark. Ryuzaki seemed to finally let the pain of her clumsiness sink in, and he clutched his stomach turning onto his side, and curling into a little ball, his mouth set to where it looked like, in Misora's opinion, he was going to puke blood, or something worse, at any given moment. And she could imagine that happening. But he didn't. After what seemed like an hour of her staring at him in apology, him curled into a rather feeble position, he got up, and faced her.

"That kind of hurt," he admitted, though, from his tone, he sounded only as if he had kicked in lightly in the side. Again, Misora furrowed her brows.

"What does it look like? May I see?" Ryuzaki gave an absent-minded blink, and Misora was about to repeat the question, at risk of him not having understood her, but he obeyed, gripping the hem of his white shirt, and raising it to where Misora could see and already bruising purple mass of knots formed on Ryuzaki's stomach. Misora frowned at the sight, and bid him lower his shirt again, forcing her gaze up to him. She felt as if she had just squished a retarded little puppy. She wasn't sure why, though, because this man was far from retarded. He was just a bit disturbed, if that was the word for it.

"I'm so sorry, Ryuzaki. Do you want me to get some ice?" Ryuzaki lowered his own gaze to where she had stomped him, and rubbed it gingerly.

"No, I'm fine. It'll probably swell, no matter what you put on it, anyway."

What followed Ryuzaki's statement was probably one of the most awkward silence moments that Misora had ever experienced. She couldn't find any words to say to break it either. Nothing about the investigation, or about his wound, or about the coffee. Nothing just seemed right. He eyes tugged upward, just a bit, not completely looking into Ryuzaki's as he bored a merciless hole into her sockets with his own.

"H'err. . ." Misora mustered, and her eyes widened. In that moment, Ryuzaki had leaned forward. Tendency told her to swat him away, or push him away, either one. But he was too fast, and she instead prepared for the worse. The worse came, too. The next thing Misora knew, Ryuzaki's lips were pressed against hers. She was too shocked to respond. But it made her face flush a cherry red. What in the hell was he doing?

Her abrupt shock was taken over by the texture of Ryuzaki's lips. She had only kissed one man before now. I mean really _kissed_. Raye was the only one who had stolen her lips completely, but she admitted, she had kissed others before. But none of them had the texture of lips that this man had. They were bone dry, as if Ryuzaki hadn't had a glass of water since the day he was born. She could also taste a hint of sugar, or something similar. She wasn't sure how dry sugar could taste so amusingly good, but it made Misora's past thoughts of him all melt away. Well, with the awkward silence and the leaning forward, that is. Misora felt her mouth being invaded by a plump, curious tongue. What would Raye think if he found out that she had been making out with another detective? Ryuzaki seemed to have read her mind, and then he touched her. On the neck. With those hands. Those hands that had been through possibly countless jars of jam and other sweets. Those hands that had nimbly guided him across the floor as he searched low. Those hands that entered his mouth and were bitten on the fingernail by his teeth when he wasn't talking. Those hands that were now stroking the dip in her neck, sending a rough shiver down her spine. She didn't dare try to escape in this position. She had no idea what he would do to her. Perhaps, if the opportunity rose, she could bolt for the door and later arrest him for sexual assault, once she got evidence. She was still on leave, and that made life difficult for her. But he didn't seem to budge, as his hands lowered, well, one hand, at least, and Misora felt and heard the soft sound of a leather jacket being unzipped. _Her_ leather jacket. Ryuzaki's hands lingered, as his tongue began to pick a fight with hers, placing a slightly curled hand at the bosom of her undershirt. The kiss broke without warning.

"Are you. . .uncomfortable?" his tone having not changed at all. Misora thought that she might as well play along, at least until an opening appeared. She teasingly leaned from Ryuzaki's touch, but did not respond. Ryuzaki's hand slipped, no, more like edged, down her torso, between her breasts, down her sensitively twitching stomach, and gripped the bottom hem of her shirt, and, without giving her a chance to respond, lifted it above her head, and rested the fabric atop of her now bare breasts. He stepped back to examine her.

"You have a very nice body," he admitted, stepping forward once again to snake an arm around her waist, drawing her as close to him as humanly possible. Misora's eyes widened, in spite of the fact that Ryuzaki was almost smiling now at her response, as she felt a cold, slender hand delve down her trousers.

Okay. _Now_ she was uncomfortable. Ryuzaki seemed to have no trouble weaving through her undertrousers and down farther to begin tickling menacingly at the sensitive nub of her passion. Her legs began to give out from under her. Ryuzaki's pressure leaned her back, and she fell into the comfort of a chair.

"You should relax. You're so tense," Ryuzaki remarked, almost giving off the hint of concern in his voice. She could tell in his eyes. He was aroused. But he was sure damn good at covering it up. But she. . .she was beginning to get that feeling when you get raped, but you seem to not mind it, once it's taking place, especially if your dominant is not half bad at what he does. Ryuzaki lowered his own hands, and Misora just now got a glimpse of his swelling manhood, as he unzipped only his jeans, and guided the thing out for her to see. It was a rather odd picture for her to be witnessing, but she tried to cope. She knew what was going to come next. Her pants almost melted from her legs, as Ryuzaki guided them only halfway down, to her knees. What were all of these actions for? Probably just his oddities. Misora gulped as the man straddled her, and gave a deep frown before thrusting himself into Misora. He went in deep, too. Misora forced back the urge to scream. It honestly hurt. Ryuzaki followed suit for a few more times, each time slowly bending his normal slouch into almost a half-back bend. Misora tried not to notice this, and focused on the odd sensation that was quickly boiling in her lower stomach. She hadn't ever done this with Raye before, but she was excited as to when she would get the chance to. Ryuzaki's member began to throb as it delved deeper and deeper into her. With each thrust, Misora felt like smiling, like asking for more. It felt good, such pleasure mixed with the pain of virginity. She made the best gesture that she could, by groping for Ryuzaki's hips as he thrusted deeper still, until. . .

Well, Misora's eyes tried to roll into the back of her head. Her mouth agape, she uttered words to the air that even she didn't quite understand. Ryuzaki had moved, having the feeling that he himself was close to ejaculation, and bent down for about a split second.

Beyond Birthday then gave the nastiest of smirks, and he brought two items from his back pocket. A gun, and two odd-looking pills. The gun he hid behind his back, while the pills he forced into Misora's mouth, placing his lips over hers to either force them down her throat, or have him fight over them with her. Luckily, the pills slipped down her throat almost instantly, and they took effect seconds later. Misora ceased moving, and went completely limp. He had numbed her, from the inside out. His smirk spread across his face, if that was even possible, and released himself from the inside of Misora, zipping himself once again, and replaced the empty hole in Misora's vulva with the gun. He cocked it, turned his head away, his smirk still in place, and pulled the trigger. The gunshot wasn't loud, just as he had designed the gun, but the result was sickening, even to him. Blood spattered on the walls, on his face, on the floor, on his clothes. But he didn't seem to mind. He lowered Misora's shirt, re-zipped her jacket, raised her trousers back and buttoned/zipped them, once he removed the gun, and flung Misora Naomi over his shoulder, bringing her down the steps and cautiously out the door of Backyard Bottomslash's home. Once he had disposed the body of the woman into his vehicle, emptying the new victim of all of her pocketed belongings, including chapstick, and a cell phone, he went back inside the building, having changed his shirt, cleaned his face, and brought with him cleaning supplies, where he would wipe ever hair folicle, every dead skin cell, every drop of sweat, any evidence of him, or Misora, beyond the blood, from the newest crime scene. But then something happened. Misora's cell phone rang. Beyond Birthday flipped the contraption open, and put the speaker to his ears.

"This is L," it spoke. Beyond Birthday's eyes narrowed to slits.

"This is B," he responded, a cruel grin tugging at his lips.

(Well, . .there you have it. DON'T EAT ME! I know you probably hate me right now, but I wanted to be experimental, and this is where being experimental leads me, sadly, so. . .yeah. . .read and review, if you like it. . .)


End file.
